


The Sandbox

by the_beating_of_her_wings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 05:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11662137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_beating_of_her_wings/pseuds/the_beating_of_her_wings
Summary: All things must come to an end...Somewhat implied Wincest. No smut. Just tears.Enjoy!





	The Sandbox

Dean was tired. Road weary and hunt weary. He and his brother had long since turned it over to the young bucks, the next generation of fresh hunters who were out fighting the good fight, saving the world and suffering their own trials and unimaginable losses.

Sam, who walked with noticeable limp these days, had taken up manning the phones and email accounts, just as Bobby had done for them and countless other hunters so many years ago. When he wasn't pretending to be an FBI Special Agent or a US Marshal to verify the credentials and assignments of undercover hunters working cases, he was compiling information, creating a quick reference library of spells, sigils, dangerous creatures and lore, accessible to hunters on the road via a Dark Web site he curated so he could still keep the world safe from the sanctuary of the bunker.

Dean, scarred and quiet, mostly just sat and drank, until Sam began swapping out his cheap whiskey for iced tea. Dean didn't put up a fight. He was too tired for one thing, and fussing over him kept Sam too busy to notice how tired he was himself.

Dean always stayed within arms reach of Sam these days, even if he just stared out into nothing and didn't speak for hours while Sam typed and read. Too many close calls over the years, and the only thing that really frightened him anymore was losing Sam. Sam felt Dean's need and often worked one handed, his right hand typing for two, while his left kept a firm hold on his brother's arm or hand. Sometimes, when Dean seeemed especially nervous, though he rarely spoke anymore other than to whisper Sam's name softly, Sam would stop his work in its tracks to wrap himself tightly around Dean until he felt safe again.

At some point Dean realized his angel had healed him so often he'd forgotten what real suffering was, and it seemed unfair because suffering had carved them from innocent little boys into the men they were. Suffering had built so many good hunters and broken so many families around them. At some point on the never ending road they travelled he had begun to refuse the ministrations of his battle worn angel. His body paid the price of being a hero. Sam followed his lead, though Dean never asked him to, and they nursed each other through broken bones and concussions and one horrific fight that had left Dean hospitalized for 3 weeks, while Sam remained vigilant by his side. These days they were in a lot of pain, as old injuries flared with the cycle of seasons. Sam suspected there may be a cancer brewing within Dean, but knew his brother would whether that storm like all the rest, he would not want to be healed with cosmic light nor subjected to radiation and the poisons of chemotherapy.

Neither of them slept right, plagued by nightmares and pain, one always desperately reaching for the other in the dark. One night, when troubled sleep came to Sam but denied Dean, he felt the distinct jolt of realization, a blinding moment of clarity. He slipped gracefully away from the warmth of his brother and sought out his angel, calling out with a muttered prayer. Dean asked something of his friend, who still had a handsome forty year old face though his eyes were ancient and sad. Dean then gently woke Sam and the conversation was had, joined by their old friends Whiskey and Tears. In their long observed tradition of loss, Dean offered his keys to Sam, who accepted stoically, and drove them all to their final destination as Team Free Will.

In the ultimate act of free will, Dean directed Sam as they pulled up to the playground. The walk wasn't far but to Sam it felt like trudging through miles of broken glass just to lose his only reason for living. Dean walked bravely, determined to go on his own terms and not be stolen in the night by some damn reaper, but he collapsed between the Impala and the sandbox, weaker than he was ready to admit. Sam dropped to his knees by his side, scooped his fallen brother into his arms, held him tighter than he had in years.

Castiel offered a hand and Sam shouted, "No!" His voice as strong and unwavering as it had been when he'd been a young man full of fire and angst. He cradled his brother, struggled to his feet, and Dean clung to him with his waning strength.

"I'm going with him," Sam said, his voice finding renewed power. Dean gripped Sam tighter.

"Sam," Castiel said softly, "I only agreed to take Dean. It's not..."

"Not what? My time?"

Castiel shook his head slowly.

"Is it his?" Sam asked, an old fire returning to his eyes.

"Yes."

"Then it's mine, too."

Sam, his limp more dramatic with the added burden, carried his brother toward the sandbox. Dean, his head on Sam's shoulder and his hand gripping the collar of his shirt, whispered, "I'll find you, Sammy."

Sam stopped before the sandbox. He pulled Dean closer, kissed his head, and replied where the angel, and every other angel on earth and in Heaven could hear, "You won't have to. I will never leave your side. Not here, not there, not ever."

Castiel nodded solemnly. He placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam kissed Dean again. Dean patted Sam's chest. The three stepped together into the sandbox and vanished in a glorious blaze of white light.


End file.
